


And Hell is my Due

by nemo_r



Category: Priest (2011)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nemo_r/pseuds/nemo_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, (bad guys win) ending to the film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Hell is my Due

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a deliberate mishearing of Feist's _"When I was a young girl"_

All I can think about is how I failed, the detonator smashed to pieces, that one Familiar playing dead, catching me unaware. If only I hadn't been so caught up trying to fix it, if only I'd taken a moment to focus on my surroundings. _He_ would never have made such a mistake, I know it. Shame coats my insides.

I pull against my bonds but they're too tight, secure around my wrists, the dry rope scratching my skin raw. I try again and again, skin parting, I barely notice the pain. Blood gives little lubrication, a little is all I need.

They left me in here, threw me in the cage. " _He'll_ come for you soon." Mad laughter, like the chittering of insects. Set my teeth on edge.

I wait, work on my bonds, wait. Patience is a virtue. One I know all about. I have to believe he's still alive, still free, maybe fighting somewhere else on the train. Maybe. I don't let myself wonder, ( _who is their master? What do they mean by he?_ ) I focus, I move my bloody hands. I pray.

The door opens.

I can't see who it is, the figure still swathed in shadows. I move only my head, tilting to look up. My hands still working behind my back.

"How are those bonds coming along?" There's a twist of humour in the voice ( _the voice, I know it_ ) his chin coming up and the brim of the hat raised just enough that his eyes look bleached in the fading sunlight. They almost look yellow.

"Fine, thanks," I reply tonelessly, masking my frustration ( _fear_ ) that he'd anticipated my intent to escape.

He laughs, the sound is rough, like his voice -- a strange reverberation running through it. He steps into the room, the light slipping liquid-like over the brim of his hat, catching the line of his nose, the hollow curves of his cheeks, his jaw. Illuminating his face, those familiar features.

Oh dear God.

" _No._ " ( _It's not possible, it can't be._ ) My bonds are forgotten, I'm leaning forwards, ( _it is, it is_ ). "How is this possible?" I don't realise I've voiced the question out loud until he answers. 

"You left me behind."

I shake my head, but don't speak. It's true.

"You left me," he continues, stepping further forward into the room, his dark coat billowing around him as he comes up to the bars, then crouches down level with me. "And _she_ found me."

There's a second of silence, and despite being aware I'm reacting to his cue, I can't stop myself from filling it. "Who?" I say, eyes latched on his unsettling yellow ones. The colour, I see now, not the light but lit by some inhuman light of his own. A mark of the changes he's been through, as sure as the cross we both wear on our brows is a mark of the changes we went through as children, all those years ago.

" _The Queen._ "

The reverence in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.

"She saved me, my angel of mercy."

I can feel the frown marring the lines of my cross. "How?"

"With her blood." He smiles, and now I see the gleam of sharp, sharp teeth.

"No, no." I choke out the denial and I want to move backwards away from the demon that was my brother, but I can't move, his eyes pin me in place, pin me down in my misery.

"Yes." He hisses, shifting even closer to the bars. "She saved me, she showed me the folly of my ways, the lies they fed us. She gave me _life_." 

"No." I whisper again, shaking my head, ( _my entire body, shaking. Is that revulsion, or is it fear._ ) He's alive, but he's not alive, and regaining then losing him so fast, my emotions are giving me whiplash.

"Their world is finished, sister, you know it's true. They hide behind their walls with no idea what's happening without."

"T-to go against the Church..." But the words are weak, they waver and fail, I've already gone against the Church by coming here and he knows it.

He smiles sharply, then stands, unfolding in a rustling creak of leather and cloth. His hands go to the lock, the latch falling open, metal clinking against the bars. He swings the door open and steps inside.

I find I can move now, and I do, shuffle backwards, and in a smooth motion, flip up, aiming not to stand, but strike him down. Element of surprise. Motions trained into us so often and from so young that they require no thought.

He has me before I can even register the movement. So fast. I'm thrown against the bars, metal digging into my bound arms, his hand on my neck, tight, too tight. I'm choking. His eyes are so yellow, so bright, I can't tell if the sun still shines through the window, those eyes are all I can see, and there, within them, the darkness of the pupils, growing ever wider, darkness swallowing up my sight.

My limbs gradually relax and I register, as if in a dream, that I'm being lowered, swaying on my feet. He moves forwards until I feel the dig of his belt buckle against my stomach. I'm pinned between him and the bars. There's no heat to his body, but he smells of engine grease and dirt, old leather and new blood. He smells like a Priest.

I relax into his hold, head falling forward to rest against his shoulder, breathing in deeply. "I've missed you," I say, my tongue as slow and thick as if I were drunk.

"I know," he whispers into my hair, hand coming up to smooth over the curve of my head, slipping around the ridges of my braid to settle on the back of my neck and kneading softly. The stress and worry easing out with every press of his fingers.

I don’t know how long I stay like that, settled into the hollow of his arms, but eventually he slides his hand round to cradle my jaw, pressing me back against the bars, tilting my head up to look at me with those golden eyes. The look seems to cut right through me, reach right down inside me and shine light on all those things I'd thought hidden. All those secret dreams I'd carried for so long, all those desires I tried with all my might to destroy. First when I thought we'd lost him, again when our order was disbanded ( _again when he rejected me, rejected me again_ ).

"I know what you want, sister." I can't shake my head to deny it and why would I? It's the truth. Still, I speak.

"It goes against our vows, I don't-"

"You want," he cuts me off. "You want us both. Because you love us. Because you never want to lose us. You wanted him so much because you thought you'd already lost me. But I'm here."  
"No, it's not you." 

"Join me. Be with me." He ignores me.

"It's not you. No, I can't." I try to struggle, but again, I can't move, my limbs are heavy and relaxed. It's him, he did this. "What did you do to me?"

He smiles, it's terrifying and so hideously familiar, despite the teeth, despite the eyes. It's him, my brother, he who was with me from the very first -- crawling into each other's beds to hide from nightmares, struggling through training, sharing food, sharing warmth, weapons, possessions. Welcoming the stranger into our midst when the others would have shunned him for the sadness in his eyes, for his years. Our unbreakable three. I love them. He's right.

Again I can't turn from his eyes, can't see anything for the light and the darkness in the centre, darkness that this time swells like a wave and washes over me like the luxury of a warm bath, sinking into my limbs and dragging me down. I can feel his lips on my neck, brushing ever so softly over my skin, so tender I wanted to cry, to offer everything I have to him ( _I am, I will, I'm going to Hell for this and I don't care_ ). And as his mouth widens, I knew what's coming.

Pain, screaming like ice from my neck and out across my veins. Down, down to my heart, cold, _cold_ fingers slipping around the muscle and freezing it solid in my chest, I'm dying.

I lose time, lost in cold, ever-cold darkness. Then suddenly there's heat, glorious, wonderful heat at my lips and drinking it down my throat into my chest. Reaching into my stunted little heart and setting it pumping again. Strange and slow, but _alive._

I drink, I drink desperately. There's some obstruction around my hands, but a sharp tug and they're free. I grab hold and drink more deeply. My mouth, lips, then teeth working to get more of the wonderful taste, liquid heat pouring into my veins and pooling under my skin.

My eyes open, heavy lidded and slow. The word is aflame, shadows that had been darkness now dance with glittering motes of light. And him, him before me, he is everything, he is the sun. He's darkness and light and right there in front of me, my blood still on his lips.

I move forward before thinking, licking it off the curve of his bottom lip, the corner of his mouth, then kissing, clumsy, awkward, too much want and not enough knowledge to make it smooth, ( _he must know how to kiss, he can teach us_ ). His hands sliding round my waist and up my back. 

I'm moaning into his mouth, chasing his tongue and the taste of blood. More, I want more, of everything, more sensation, more blood. More _him_. I _want_. This, then, is desire let free. This is what the Church warned us away from. I understand now. This will consume me, and God, ( _God?_ ) how I would let it happen. I shove away from the wall, catching him by surprise and knocking us both to the floor.

I straddle him with my legs and rise up to look down at him. There's that clever little smirk on his sharp-toothed mouth ( _check with my tongue -- incisors sharp enough to part skin with_ ). "Are my eyes like yours as well?" And oh, my voice, how rough and low, honey thick. I like it. I shiver, his eyelids flutter, I shiver again, putting a roll into it that he answers with his hips.

"Stop, wait." His hands settle on my waist to hold me still. "Aren't you forgetting someone?"

I am and I want him as well, my heart aches for him still. But I don't want to stop, don't want to move from here, with my glowing brother underneath me, reacting to my presence. _Wanting me back._

"Easy." His hands firm over my hips. "We have time, after. But our brother is resourceful, and by now, he may be awake."

I lean down towards him, my hair is escaping from my braid, strands freed to halo my face. "What did you do to him?" I whisper, tightening my knees around his body, tightening them until I hear the warning creak from his ribs. His eyes are lit with fire. 

"Oh I missed sparring with you." And then he's flipped us and I try to flip us back over, but I misjudge, he's had longer to get used to his strength and I'm barely settling into my skin. He has my wrists in his grip, stretching me out underneath him, one hand sliding under my top, fingers drawing a distracting pattern against my skin. 

"I..." He leans down to lick at my neck and I shiver again, not sure whether I want to move in towards him, or away. "...pinned him to the wall with is own knife."

My eyes go wide. "Are you mad?"

"He let go." 

"He tried to save you."

"But he let go."

"You fell."

"But. He. Let. Go."

I say nothing, his body has gone still. I flex my hands in his grip, freeing one and, slowly, raising it to his face. I can see the fire in his eyes. "He mourned you," I say, stroking my fingers down his cheek. "We thought you were dead. He wouldn't speak for days. Barely ate or drank. I thought maybe he was trying to die, trying to join you."

"That's a sin." His jaw moves against my hand, the roughness of his jaw scratching my skin ( _the sensation, so much more clear, more perfect that had I been human_ ). I shift my grip so my fingers are covering his mouth. His lips part, tongue flicking out to touch the pads of my fingertips.

"He loved you," I say simply.

A second then he moves back from my hand. "But does he still?" He raises himself to his feet before I can answer, brushing his coat straight, then offering a hand to me. I stretch against the ground for a second, just to see his eyes flare with lust, then I snap upright in one, fluid motion, so much smoother, so much faster than before.

"Only one way to find out," I reply. His hat was knocked to the ground in our scuffle, and I bend to retrieve it, brushing it free of dust and handing it to him.

His shoulders square, the hat goes on, and he gestures for me to precede him out of the cage.

I exit first, the turn back while he's still inside. "Aren't you afraid I'll turn on you? Follow through on the mission?" He strides up to the door, resting his arms casually against the bars.

"Lock me in here?" He glances up at the cage walls. "Run away back to the Church?" He pins me with his gaze. "Now? Changed as you are?" 

I shrug, leaning against the bars as well, "I could just leave. Let them, vampires and Church, battle it out on their own." I can see the whole world stretching out before me. It can't all be like this, wasteland, radiation. There must be better places somewhere. Somewhere far from the site of the battle, from reservations and cities. From humans and vampires both.

He leans forward. "You would leave me?"

I go still, no motion at all, no breath goes in, my heart itself may have stopped. No snake was ever this still before an attack. I am made of stone. Until I am not, leaning forward towards him and kissing him hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough that he won't forget. "I'll never leave you again."

He stares at me as I move back. Then he smiles. "I know."

He leads the way into the other room, motioning for me to stay behind, in the shadows that are no longer shadows. I acquiesce, the reveal is better this way.

Our brother is still unconscious, slumped against the wall. I ache for him, for the pain in his battered body, even as I can smell the blood in his veins and pooled around the blade, exposed in the scrapes and cuts over his skin.

"Step back." 

I halt, I've entered the room without noticing, drawn by the scent, hungering for the taste. I glance over at him, then, slowly, step back and back and back until I am once more cloaked by shadow.

He strides towards our brother him, and in one swift motion, yanks the blade from the wall. Our brother falls to the ground, waking from the sudden shock and gasping against the carpet. Blood, the rich wonderful smell of it calls to me. But I firm my stance and stay beyond the doorway.

"Brother, have you had some time to think?"

He remains on the ground, slowly, slowly pushing himself to all fours, his stabbed arm shaking with strain. He doesn't look up.

My maker flips the blade in his hands -- flashing silver and gleaming darkness of blood. He glances back at me, and taunting, raises the blade to his lips, licking the blood from the blade. I growl, low in my chest, and his eyes flash a warning.

Shouldn't tease then, should he?

"Well brother?" Hew crouches down. "Have you reached a decision?" His voice is gentled a little.

Our brother slowly turns his head to look at him, and my maker tenses, reading the reply I can see in his eyes.

"I will kill you."

He explodes into movement, snapping out his leg to flick the blade in the air, and striking him, unexpectedly, with his stabbed arm. Clever. His other hand goes out for the blade that spins, spins, and I take two steps forward and pluck it from the air.

I hold my position for half a second, as if weighing the blade in my hand, then I turn my head down until he can see my eyes. The flash of hope that was in those clear blues fades and dies.

" _No._ "

And, in an echo of my maker only moments before, I hiss, "yes." 

I sheathe the knife as I bend, sparing a quick glance to my maker, he doesn't object my early reveal. And good, because it saved, if not his life, certainly a great deal of trouble. "It's not bad." I whisper, unable to stop myself reaching out ( _and why should I stop? If I want, I take. All rules can be re-written, and this one most especially. I want, I want_.) I run my hand over the short prickle of hair on his head, his skull strangely fragile under my palm. "They can't stop us like this. They can't do anything to us."  
"No." He seems to have forgotten his desperation to escape, caught in the surprise of my appearance. Oh my brother. "This is wrong, this is monstrous." 

"No," I say, "This is how it must be." I lean in towards him, closer, and I see now how my maker caught me with his eyes, see how easy it is to draw him in, ( _the patter of his heart, slowing, the rapidity of his breath, easing_ ). "This way you will never leave us behind. This way you will never turn away." And I know it's true, because I want my maker more now than ever before, I want him because he's like me, I want him because he made me. I want him because he is want, he is desire, he is lust and sin and all that is golden and burning.

"No," he says again, but it's a whisper, and it's weak, and I know now what he wants. 

My maker moves around to the other side of him, moves in close and, slowly, so carefully, he slides his hand under him, taking the weight off his weak arm, and letting him sag back against his chest. I shift forward, not losing the connection of our gazes, the fragile thread that keeps him open, keeps the truth dancing between our minds. 

"You'll be part of something," my maker whispers into his ear. "You'll be with us. We'll never leave you." And maybe there's a little extra stress on the word, but only a little. "We'll never betray you, or ignore you. We'll be yours." 

I lean forward. "And you'll be ours."

He stares back and I see it now, I see the want reflecting in his eyes ( _recognise it for what it was when I gave him the cross._ ) He does, he did, he wants but he can't bring himself to admit it. So I will say it for him. 

"Do it." 

I can't risk losing his gaze, so I keep his eyes on me, as my maker, as _our_ maker, bends, carefully, ever so carefully ( _and I see now how he must have looked pressing his lips to my skin,_ ) drawing his jaw wide, a sheen of tears marring the light of his eyes. Then biting down, the rushing scent of blood, saliva flooding my mouth. I'm close, I'm close enough to kiss him and I want that too, so why not? His eyes fall shut, blue flaring a final time before they close, and I'm kissing lips warm and lax, sliding my tongue between them into his mouth, licking the warmth from his skin. Sliding down to the other side of his neck, his artery pulsing its fluttering, final last and my jaw aches, my body aches with the gorgeous dancing need.  Stretching out the moment, making love to him now with our mouths even as the life flees his body.

Biting down. _Finally,_ finally, blood rushing into my mouth, hot and sweet and all the more delicious because it's _his_.

I lose myself in it, drinking until I can hear the beat of his heart grow ever so slow. My maker's hand is on the back of my neck, his words whispering in my ear. "Don't kill him, sister, don't kill him." I want more blood, I want all of it, I want to bathe in it, drown in it. But I want him ( _I want, I want_ ) so I let him draw me back, draw me up to his mouth and we lick the blood clean from each other's lips. I want to pull him down onto my brother's cooling body and take him right now, on this dirty, bloody carpet, with the dust motes dancing golden in the air. 

( _But better if it were we three._ )

I finally ease back, if I were still human, I think I would be gasping now, but I have no breath to be short of. I look down at our brother, he looks dead, lying there broken and somehow small. 

"Like this." My maker answers my unspoken question, biting into his wrist, then pressing the bloody wound to our brother's mouth. 

First there is nothing, silence but for the background growl of the train's engine. I think for a second we've failed, that we've lost him forever, that maybe I took too much. Desperation claws at my insides, I reach out to grab hold of my maker's shoulder. But then, there, I see it, our brother's throat works. And there, again, swallowing, now more and more, steadier. Finally, his hands come slowly, clumsily up to grip our maker's arm then he's feeding in earnest, drinking down the blood that will remake him, will make him whole and new and perfect.

Will make him one of us.


End file.
